Darkness
by HorseGirl784
Summary: The Goddess seemed unnaturally cruel to Claire in that moment, or maybe it was the Witch Princess's fault. Now, she's stuck in the bottom of a freezing mine with no way out. With no supplies, serious injuries and with no one knowing she's gone, Claire's life hangs in the balance as she's forced to rely on her own strength and trust in her friends. Claire x ?


**A/N - I'm baaaaaaaack! :) Hello to anyone who decides to stop by. Thanks for doing so, by the way. **

**I feel no need to introduce myself: my pen name's right there ^. But anyway, I want to clear some things up before you get started on the piece. First, this is just the prolouge: that's way it's so short. Sinfully short. Second, this takes place in Forget-Me-Not Valley, assuming you've plugged in your MFoMT game pack. Third: YES, there is a pairing. But I'm going to leave it up to you to figure out who it is. I already know how I want it to be, but maybe readers can influence me ;) Fourth: please don't expect quick updates. I'm horribly busy at the moment, but I PROMISE to see this fic through. I don't know how long it'll be, maybe only a few chapters, maybe a ginormous novel. We'll see. Fifth: I don't know how to spell prolouge (prologue). Derp.**

**Disclaimer: I have not, do not, and will not own HM or any of the characters. Don't sue me; you'll lose.**

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**_Darkness  
Prolouge_**

Darkness. Cold. Pain. Dizziness.

"Ooh," Claire groans, feeling around with her almost-numb hands. Her eyelids feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds and her tongue feels thick and fuzzy. The pads of her fingers scrape over stone and loose gravel, and she feels and smells the airy silkiness of dust. Her head throbs and blooms with pain every time her heart pumps blood into her brain, and if she could open her eyes, she knew she would only see big black spots.

Her bones tell her it is well after dark, the sun having set behind the mountains surrounding Forget-Me-Not Valley hours ago, and the aches in her joints and the stiffness in her muscles say she has been out for a long while. Slowly, she pries open her eyelids and is greeted with nothing but watery greyness that is hazy with fatigue and lack of light. As she lays there on the ground, aching and hurting and wondering what happened, Claire begins to register a fiery burning in her left calf and the feeling of her hair, plastered to her scalp. It is too cold for her to sweat, wherever she is, and the realization of what it is is enough to send her rocketing upright.

Her world spins. "Okay," the blonde farmer moans as she presses the heels of hands to her eyes. "Bad idea. _Very _bad idea. Alright," she says, as much to distract herself from the aching in her head and the greyness that sharpens into a more visible reality: with the little light she has she can make out only her rucksack lying a few feet away and the tips of her white sneakers. "Okay. I was…what. I was at Vesta's. No, I wasn't—I was at the mines. Visiting Flora." Her headache worsens in agreement as she struggles to recall what she did next. "And then I helped Carter find that thingy in the sand. And then—that crop field behind the waterfall. And then—and then—"

And then nothing. Her memory rebounds and Claire nervously begins to braid a long lock of sunny blonde hair, an anxious habit she has been unable to break. Unable to stifle a noise of frustration, she struggles to her feet and ignores the smarting in her leg and the stickiness she feels there. Blood rushes down her body into the cold limbs and they tingle with tiny needles. Her head spins even faster and it is all Claire can do to turn away from her bag before she heaves up her lunch behind a large smooth boulder. She retches until the world finally holds still and her throat burns with acid. She wipes her mouth and wishes for gum.

Claire begins to feel along the boulder next to her, digging her finger nails into the miniscule cracks as she worries her lip and thinks, and suddenly she knows where she is. Looking up to see if her guess is correct, she is rewarded with a hole barely big enough to let a human pass through it, and with her scant amount of light lazily flowing through. The only sound is her quick breathing—she is utterly alone.

The mines. The fourth one. And by the aches and pains and fire burning up her leg, she safely guesses that she has fallen a very far way from the surface, indeed.

Panic surfaces, surging up her throat in a powerful rush that very nearly chokes her before she can tamp it back down, and she falls to her knees once more as her head throbs heartily with adrenaline and the thick thudding pain that is in no way fading; she can feel all her many injuries acutely now and Claire knows she is very badly hurt. Breathing becomes even more difficult as her fear escalates, and deep breaths are an impossibility even aside from her fear. The air down in her deep hole is heavy and weighted with dust and debris; it feels close and achingly dry, as if it is trying to suck all the moisture from her body, but then Nami's face rises in her mind. Nami, who is solid and stalwart and most of all never panics (and would more than likely swat Claire upside the head if she saw the farmer now, all atwitter just from waking up). So she swallows, as much to try and rid herself of the lingering taste of bile as to calm herself, and forces herself to breathe normally and think rationally.

She is hurt—that much is painfully (she snorts at the bad pun) obvious. Claire steels herself and sits back, stretching her burning leg out in front of her as she rolls up the hem of her blue denim overalls. She gasps and her fingers hover over the torn mess that was once healthy and attractive (she likes to think so, anyway). There are gashes and scrapes and cuts that all ooze a thick scarlet and Claire wonders at how she was even able to stand at all. Seeing the injury seems to increase the pain; she now feels more like her limb is set on fire instead of a steady burning of dying coals. Claire grits her teeth despite the agony and braces herself as she reaches up to run her fingers through her thick blonde hair.

She pulls her hand away, and it is stained crimson.

Claire very nearly hurls again, even though it is only what she expected, and she feels something slide along the back of her neck. She gasps and clamps her blue eyes shut. She is _very _hurt, with a head wound, possible concussion and one leg next to useless. It is nighttime, it is bone-chillingly cold and she has no blankets. She does not have a first aid kit. No food. No water. No one knows where she is, and she is too far down to call for help.

_I'm going to die._

The thought shatters what little control she has over her panic and it slams into her in a whitewater rush that she cannot defeat. Her eyes prick and her aching chest heaves and a sob rises and rips from her throat so loudly that she jumps. She is going to die here, alone, injured, cold and in serious pain. If the temperature doesn't take her first, her wounds will. If even those fail, starvation will set in. Claire draws her knees to her chest and lets herself mourn for her own life that will surely be lost down in that god-forsaken pit.

_My farm will fail, all my animals will be sold to ranchers who have no idea how to love them. Pippin and Tilly, off to the pound. My crops are going to die and shrivel up into little brown things. Tak'll be all alone again. I should have been nicer to him, to everyone. Why didn't I ever get married, have some kids? They'd come definitely looking for me—_

And suddenly, her tears vanish and the panic disappears and a small seedling of hope takes its place. It is suddenly impossible to imagine she will be there for very long. It is a precarious line of thinking, Claire knows, one that balances on the tip of a knife. It is more likely to lead to damsel-in-distress type behavior than anything productive, but all the same. She has friends, many dear friends who will most definitely notice her absence, she is sure, and a whole valley full of people who know her face. Flora, who knows every inch of the mines; Carter, who spends nearly every waking second in their mysterious depths. Nami and Celia, whom she sees every day. Elli and Trent, who give her checkups every Wednesday.

Surely, she will be found.


End file.
